CHAPTER X ~ THE “CHAMPION” ISSUES A “SPECIAL”
Ten minutes later Mallard was at the hall door giving instructions to the reporter.
“Hurry back as fast as you can, Winthrop, and tell Mr. Flynn to rash the special through. And as fast as any farther news come in rap out another. Get all the boys you can, and distribute the specials everywhere—anywhere. Chuck some over into the cemetery—they’ll make the dead ‘get up and holler.’ Tell the boys that they are not to make any charge—get the foreman to head it ‘Special! Gratis! (Any one newsboy who makes a charge for this special will be immediately dismissed.)’ See? And tell the boys they will get five shillings each extra in the morning. I’ll be down in another twenty minâtes or so. Go on, Winthrop, loop!”
Mr. Winthrop, who was as excited as Mallard himself, “looped,” and the editor returned to the dining-room with a galley-proof slip in his hand. Every one, of coarse, saw by his face that something had occurred.
“I won’t sit down again, Mrs. Trappème, if you and the other ladies will excuse me, for I have to hurry back to the office to attend to some important business. There is great news.” Then, bending down, he placed his hand on Grainger’s shoulder, and whispered, “You must come with me, old man. There is glorious news from Chinkie’s. I’ll tell you all about it in a minute, as soon as we are outside. Make your apologies and let us go,” and then going over to Mrs. Trappème, he handed her the proof to read to her guests and hurried out with Grainger, leaving every one in the room eager to learn what had occurred.
“Oh, dear me!” began Mrs. Lee-Trappème, adjusting her pince-nez, which always interfered with her sight.
“SPECIAL. ‘TOWNSVILLE CHAMPION.’
“WRECK
“9 P.M., May 2nd. “Authentic news has just reached the Champion office that the mail steamer Flintshire was wrecked on the Great Barrier Beef three days ago (the 5th). All the crew and passengers—200 in number-were saved, and are now on their way to Townsville. [Further particulars later.]”
“DREADFUL MASSACRE BY THE NOTORIOUS BLACK OUTLAWS
“The Clonourry mail, which has been delayed by floods, brings news of a terrible massacre perpetrated by the ootlaw black ex-troopers Sandy and Daylight. A party of five miners who were camped at a lagoon near Dry Creek were surprised and murdered in their sleep by the two outlaws and a number of myall blacks. The bodies were found by the mail man. Inspector Lamington and a patrol of Native Polioe leave tomorrow to punish the murderers. Detailed particulars of the affair will be given in to-morrow’s issue—Mudoch, the mail man, being too exhausted to stand the test of a long interview to-night.”
“WONDERFUL GOLD DISCOVERY NEAR CHINKIN’S FLAT
“A NEW EL DORADO. “MR. GRAINGER AND HIS PARTNERS THE LUCKY MEN
“By the Clonourry mail, which brought intelligence of the tragedy at Dry Creek, also comes most pleasurably exciting news. The ‘Ever Victorious Grainger,’ as his many friends often designate him, some months ago sent out a prospecting party to try the country near the headwaters of Banshee Greek, with the result that probably the richest alluvial field in Australia has been discovered. Over 2,000 os. of gold—principally in nuggets ranging from 100 oz. to 2 oz.– have already been taken by Mr. Grainger’s party. Warden Charteris, accompanied by an escort of white and black polioe, leaves for the place to-morrow night. The news of this wonderfully rich field has been two weeks reaching Townsville owing to the flooded condition of the country between Banshee Creek and Chinkie’s Flat.
“Mr. Grainger is at present in this city on a short visit. His good fortune will benefit the country at large as well as himself and his energetic partners.”
“Dear me, how very exciting to be getting gold so easily!” said Mrs. Trappème, as she laid the proof on the table; “your brother will be delighted, Miss Grainger.”
“He will be pleased, of course,” absented Myra. “He always had a belief that a rich alluvial gold-field would be discovered in the Banshee Creek country. He sent this particular prospecting party away nearly two months ago.”
“What a hawwid story about the murdered diggahs!” said Mr. Assheton to Myra. “Did it occur neah where you were living, Miss Graingah?”
“About a hundred miles further westward, towards the Minerva Downs district. These two men, Sandy and Daylight, have committed quite a number of murders during the past two years. They killed five or six poor Chinese diggers on the Cloncurry Road last year. They are both well armed, and it is almost impossible to capture them, as they retreat to the ranges whenever pursued.”
“They are a most ferocious and desperate pair,” said Mr. Wooler, who then told their story, which was this:—
Some two or three years previously Sandy and Daylight, who belonged to one of the Native Police camps in the Gulf district,5 had, while out on patrol, urged one of their comrades to join with them in murdering their white officer and then absconding. The other man refused, and, later on in the day, secretly told the officer that he was in great danger of being shot if he rode on ahead of the patrol as usual. As soon as the party returned to camp the two traitors were quietly disarmed, handcuffed, and then chained to a log till the morning. During the night they managed to free themselves (aided, no doubt, by the trooper who was detailed to guard them), killed the man who had refused to join them by cleaving his skull open with a blow from a tomahawk, and then decamped to the ranges with their rifles and ammunition. They found a refuge and safe retreat with the savage myalls (wild blacks) inhabiting the granite ranges, and then began a career of robbery and murder. Small parties of prospectors found it almost impossible to pursue their vocation in the “myall country,” for the dreaded ex-troopers and their treacherous and cannibal allies were ever, on the watch to cut them off. In the course of a few months, by surprising and killing two unfortunate Chinese packers, the desperadoes became possessed of their repeating rifles and a lot of ammunition, and the old single-shot police carbines were discarded for the more effective weapons. Sandy, who was the leader, was a noted shot, and he and his companion now began to haunt the vicinity of isolated mining camps situated in country of the roughest description. Parties of two or three men who had perhaps located themselves in some almost inaccessible spot would go on working for a few weeks in apparent security, leaving one of their number to guard the camp and horses, and on returning from their toil would find their comrade dead or severely wounded, the camp rifled of everything it contained, and the horses speared; and the hardy and adventurous pioneers would have to retreat to one of the main mining camps, situated perhaps fifty miles away, with nothing left to them but the hard-won gold they had saved and their mining tools, but ready and eager to venture forth again.
One day, so the clergyman related, a man named Potter was travelling from Burketown to Port Denison, and camped beside a small water-hole to rest until the morning. After unsaddling and hobbling out the horse he had been riding, and unloading the pack-horse, he threw his packbags at the foot of a Leichhardt tree, lit a fire, and began to boil a billy of tea. He knew that he was in dangerous country, and that it was unwise of him to light a fire, but being of a reckless disposition, and having a firm belief in his luck, he took no further precaution beyond opening the flap of his revolver pouch.
He had just taken out a piece of damper and some salt meat, which, with the hot tea, were to be his supper, when he was startled to hear some one address him by name, and looking up, he saw a powerfully-built black fellow with a long black beard and smiling face standing a dozen yards or so away. He was all but nude, but round his waist was buokled a broad leather police belt with two ammunition pouches; in his right hand he carried a repeating rifle.
“Don’t you know me, Mr. Potter?” he said in excellent English.
Potter recognised him at once, and the two shook hands.
“Why, you’re Sandy! Have you left the police?” (He knew nothing of what had occurred.)
“Yes,” was the reply, “I skipped,” and carelessly putting his rifle down, he asked Potter if he had any tobacco to spare.
“Yes, I can give you a few plugs,” and going to his saddle bags he produced four square plugs of tobacco, which he handed to his visitor, who took them eagerly, at once produced a silver-mounted pipe (probably taken from some murdered digger) filled it, and began to smoke and talk.
“My word, Mr. Potter,” he said with easy familiarity, “it is a good thing for you that I knew you,” and he showed his white, even teeth in a smile. “But I haven’t forgot that when I got speared on the Albert River five years ago you drove me into Burketown in your buggy to get a doctor for me.” (He had formerly been one of Potter’s stockmen, and had been badly wounded in an encounter with wild blacks.)
Potter made some apparently careless reply. He knew that Sandy, though an excellent stockman, had always had a bad record, and indeed he had been compelled to dismiss him on account of his dangerous temper. He heard later on that the man had joined the Black Police, and a deserter from the Black Police is in nine cases out of ten an unmitigated villain.
Then Sandy became communicative, and frankly told his involuntary host part—but part only—of his story, and wound up by saying—
“You must not sleep here to-night. There is a big mob of myalls camped in the river-bed three miles away from here. If they see you, they’ll kill you for certain between now and to-morrow night, when you are going through some of the gorges. You must saddle up again, and I’ll take you along another track and leave you safe.”
Tired as the horses were, Potter took Sandy’s advice, and the two started at sunset, the blackfellow leading. They travelled for some hours, and then again camped—this time without a fire. Sandy remained till daylight, and during a further conversation boasted that he had enough gold in nuggets to allow him to have “a fine time in Sydney or Melbourne,” where he meant to make his way some day “when things got a bit quiet and people thought he was dead.” In proof of his assertion about the gold he gave Potter a two ounce nugget he picked out from several others which were carried in one of his ammunition pouches. Before they parted Potter gave him—at his particular request—one of the two blankets he carried, and then Sandy and he shook hands, and the blackfellow, rifle in hand, disappeared, and left his former master to continue his journey.
“What a hawwid chawacter!” said Mr. Assheton, when the clergyman had concluded his story. “Why don’t the police exert themselves and catch or shoot the fellow?”
“It is such very difficult country,” explained Myra, “and, in fact, has not yet all been explored.”
The ladies rose, and Myra and Sheila, pleading fatigue, went to their rooms—or rather to Myra’s—leaving Mrs. and Miss Trappème and Mrs. Wooler to, as Sheila said, “Tear me to pieces. But I could not let that woman insult me without retaliating.”
“Of course you did right. She’s an odious creature.”
Grainger returned alone about eleven o’clock. He tapped at Myra’s door, and asked her if she was asleep.
“No. Miss Carolan is here; we’ve been having a lovely talk.”
“Well, go to bed, and have a lovely sleep. I want to see you both, especially Miss Carolan, very early in the morning. We can all go out on the beach before breakfast.”
“Very well, Ted. Has Mr. Mallard come in?”
“No. He will not be here for another half-hour or more. Good-night.”
Mrs. Trappème had heard his voice, and quietly opened the door of her own sitting-room, where she and Juliette (Mrs. Wooler had gone) had been discussing Sheila’s delinquencies.
“Well!” gasped the mother to her daughter, as she softly closed the door again. “What on earth is going on, I should like to know! Did you hear that—‘I want to see you both very early, especially Miss Garolan’? What is there going on? I must go and see Mrs. Wooler in the morning and tell her. And on the beach too! Why can’t they be more open?”
Master Mordaunt, who was in the corner devouring some jelly and pastry given to him by his fond mother, looked up and said, with distended cheeks—
“Ain’t the beach open enough?”
“Hold your tongue, you horrid little animal,” said the irate Juliette.
CHAPTER XI ~ A CHANGE OF PLANS
Myra and Sheila, both early risers, were dressed and awaiting Grainger on the verandah when he came out of his room at seven o’clock, and they at once descended the steep Melton Hill to the beach. The morning was delightfully fresh and cool, and the smooth waters of Cleveland Bay were rippling gently to a fresh southerly breeze. Eastward, and seven miles away, the lofty green hills and darker-hued valleys of Magnetic Island stood clearly out in the bright sunlight, and further to the north Great Palm Island loomed purple-grey against the horizon. Overhead was a sky of clear blue, flecked here and there by a few fleecy clouds, and below, on the landward side, a long, long curve of yellow beach trending from a small rocky and tree-clad point on the south to the full-bosomed and majestic sweep of Cape Halifax to the north.
“What a lovely day!” exclaimed Sheila as Grainger, as soon as they had descended the hill and stepped on the firm yellow sand, led them to a clump of black, shining rocks. “I wish I were a girl of twelve, so that I could paddle about in the water.”
“There is nothing to stop you doing that at Minerva Downs, Miss Cardan,” said Grainger with a smile. “There is a lovely fresh-water lagoon there, with a dear sandy bottom, and the Farrow children—big and little—spend a good deal of their time there bathing and fishing.” Then, as the girls seated themselves, he at once plunged into the subject uppermost in his mind.
“Myra, the news that came through last night has put me in a bit of a quandary, both as regards you and Miss Carolan. Now tell me, would you mind very much if I left you to-day and returned to Chinkie’s Flat?”
“No, indeed, Ted. Surely I would not be so selfish as to interfere with your business arrangements!”
“That’s a good little girl. I did want to stay in Townsville for a week or two after you had left, then I could have taken Miss Carolan as far as Chinkie’s Flat on her way to Minerva Downs. But I can do something better, as far as she is concerned. You will only be here for a week, and you can suffer the Trappème people for that time. Mallard”—and he smiled—“will no doubt try to make the time pass pleasantly for you.”
“Don’t be so silly, Ted. Get to the point about Miss Carolan. When is she leaving?”
“To-day—if you will, Miss Carolan—with me. The Warden and his troopers are leaving at noon for the new rush; and Charteris, when I explained things to him (I saw him last night at Mallard’s office) said he will be very pleased if we will come with him. Will it be too much of a rush for you?”
“Oh no, Mr. Grainger! But I have no horse,” and then, as she thought of leaving her newly-found girl friend so soon, she looked a little miserable, and her hand stole into Myra’s.
“Oh, that’s all right,” said Grainger cheerfully. “I’ve two for you—Myra’s, and one Charteris is lending me for you. Can you ride hard and fast? Charteris is a terror of a man for pushing along to a new rush.”
“I won’t make him feel cross, I assure you, Mr. Grainger.”
“Then it’s decided.” (Sheila well knew that whether | she had or had not decided, he had; yet though dimly resentful, she was quite content when she looked into his quiet grey eyes.) “You see, Miss Carolan, it’s quite likely I may be able to go all the way with you to Minerva Downs, and therefore we ought not to miss travelling with the Commissioner as far as he goes. Sub-Inspector Lamington, of the Native Police, is also coming with us. He’s off on a wild goose—or rather, a wild nigger—chase after Sandy and Daylight and their myall friends. If, when we get to Chinkie’s Flat, I find that I must go with Charteris to the new rush, your friend Dick Scott and my own trusty black boy Jacky will take you on to Minerva Downs. You can travel with Lamington and his troopers part of the way after you leave Chinkie’s. Take some light luggage on a pack-horse—the rest, I am sorry to say, will have to come on from here by bullock team. But it is not unlikely that I may be able to take you all the way.”
“I am very, very grateful to you, Mr. Grainger,” said Sheila. “I fear I am going to prove a great encumbrance to you.”
“Oh, Ted is a dear old brother!” said Myra, patting his brown, sun-tanned hand affectionately.
After a walk along the beach as far as the small, rocky point, they returned to breakfast, and great was Mrs. Trappème’s astonishment when Grainger informed her that he was leaving in a few hours.
“Not for long, I trust?” she said graciously, bearing in mind that he had told her he might remain for a week or two after Myra had left.
“I do not think I shall be in Townsville again for some months,” he replied, as he handed her fourteen guineas. “This is for the week for my sister and for me.”
“Thank you,” said the lady, with a dignified bow—for she felt a little resentful at his not telling her more. Then she said with a sweet smile, “We will take good care of Miss Grainger. Either my daughters or I will be delighted to see her safely on board the steamer.”
“Thank you; but Mr. Mallard will do that.”
“Oh, indeed!” said the lady, with unmistakable disappointment in her voice, and then Grainger, without saying a word about Sheila, went to his room to pack, and talk to Mallard, who had not yet risen.
“I wonder if Mr. Mallard is leaving too now that his friend is going,” anxiously said Juliette a few minutes later.
“If he does I shall insist upon having the ful six guineas,” remarked her mother angrily. “No, on second thoughts I won’t ask for it. Whether he leaves or not, I may find him very useful. I quite mean to ask him to every day publish a ‘list of guests at “Magnetic Villa."’”
“Miss Carolan wud like to see yez, mum, if ye are dishengaged,” said Mary, entering the room.
Sheila was in the drawing-room, and thither Mrs. Trappème sailed.
“I shall be leaving Townsville to-day, I find,” she said politely. “Would it be inconvenient for you to have my luggage sent to Hanran & Co., who will store it for me until I need it?”
Mrs. Trappème’s curiosity was intense, but she remembered Mrs. Wooler’s experience of the previous evening—and feared. And then she had had the girl’s money in advance.
“Oh, I am so sorry you are going,” she said, with a would-be motherly smile. “Of course I will send it anywhere you wish—but why not leave it here in my care?” And then she could not resist asking one question: “Are you going to Minerva Downs, Miss Carolan, may I ask?”
“Yes; I am going there.”
“What a dreadfully long journey for you! Does it not alarm you? And you are surely not travelling alone?”
“Oh, no; I am fortunate in having quite a large escort. Will you send the luggage down as soon as possible, Mrs. Trappème?”
“Certainly,” replied the lady—this time with a stiff bow; for she was now inwardly raging at not having learnt more. Then she went off to tell Juliette this new development.
At ten o’clock, after Mallard had breakfasted, he and Grainger (the latter bidding Mrs. and the Misses Trappème a polite goodbye) went away, and shortly after Dick Scott appeared, leading a pack-horse. He took off the empty bags, and marched up to the front door.
“Mr. Grainger has sent these to Miss Caroline, miss,” he said to Lilla Trappème, “and will you please ask her to put her things into ‘em and I’ll wait?”
Myra helped Sheila pack some clothing, rugs, &c, into the bags, and Mary took them out to the burly Dick.
“By jingo! you’re the finest woman I’ve seen here yet,” said he affably to the blushing Mary. “Now, will you tell Miss Caroline and Miss Grainger that I’ll be up with the horses in half an hour? Goodbye, bright eyes.”
He returned within the time, riding his own horse and leading two others.
“Sidesaddles,” said Juliette to her mother as they watched through the dining-room windows the big digger dismount and hang the horses’ reins over the front gate.
As he strode across the lawn, they heard Mary’s voice in the hall. It sounded as if she were half crying.
“Goodbye, miss, and Hivin’s blessin’ on ye; and may God sind ye a good husband.”
A moment or two later she entered, wiping her eyes. “The ladies are goin’, and wish to spake to yez,” she said.
Mrs. Trappème and her daughters rose, as Myra and Sheila, clad in their neatly-fitting habits, came into the room.
“I am going to accompany Miss Carolan and my brother for a few miles, Mrs. Trappème, so I shall not be here for lunch,” said Myra.
“Oh, indeed,” said Mrs. Trappème faintly; and then, with a pleasant smile from Myra, and a coldly polite bow from Sheila, they were gone.
Scott swung them up into their saddles, and in another minute they were descending the hill.
Mother and daughter looked at each other.
“So she’s going with Mr. Grainger,” said Juliette, with an unpleasant twitch of her thin lips; “the—the little cat! I’d like to see her fall off!”
“Never mind her—she’s gone now—and I have had six guineas from her,” remarked her amiable mamma. “Now, if you are coming into Flinders Street with me, make haste, and don’t sit grizzling.”
Poor Juliette! Poor Mrs. Lee-Trappème! When they descended the hill and emerged out into Flinders Street, they found the side-path crowded with people, who were all gazing into the great yard of the Queen’s Hotel, from which was emerging a cavalcade. First came four people—the white-bearded Charteris with Myra, and Grainger with Sheila; after them a sergeant and six white police, and ten Native Police with carbines on thighs, and then Dick Scott and dark-faced Inspector Lamington; behind followed a troop of spare horses.
As they swung through the gates, the crowd cheered as Charteris gave the word, and the whole party went off at a sharp canter down the long, winding street.